


It's You I Want

by ToAStranger



Series: Lilies Under My Skin [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Barebacking, Cunnilingus, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Riding, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 04:25:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12124464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: After a rough night, Tony and Natasha have an interesting way of distracting each other and showing gratitude.Part 1 of 9.





	It's You I Want

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a Tony/Avenger for all of the pairings from It Gnaws, following a plot from story to story. But all those tags drive me crazy to try and keep them together, so I broke them into separate pieces. 
> 
> Basically, these will be the smutty sequels to It Gnaws Me Through. Not nearly as flowery. Hope you enjoy.

"Screw poetry, it’s you I want,   
your taste, rain   
on you, mouth on your skin."

\-  Margaret Atwood , Late Night

* * *

Chapter 1: Orchid

“Wow.” 

Back when Tony had first invited this team of wayward weirdos into his home, he sort of openly accepted the fact that he would be living with a gaggle of stupidly attractive people.  Then, of course, he’d invited them into his bed and his heart too-- though, the bed part of that equation was still on the as-yet-to-be-seen side of things, a lot like an imaginary number, still affecting the outcome but not a genuine variable-- and he’d sentenced himself to perpetual dry mouth-- and, occasionally, blue balls. 

It isn’t as though they are unwilling to take him to bed, nor that he is particularly outclassed by them.  Instead, it has a lot to do with Tony’s own reluctance to move beyond the sweetness that had settled between all of them since his return to their welcoming arms.  Since his heart finally gave up the ghost of his saccharine desire and their acceptance of his fears and his wants had revived a soft hesitance in him.  Like everything was new and shiny and young. 

Basically, they were all suffering a great deal of sexual frustration in the name of their stupid, raw, unbridled happiness.  

But then comes times like this, with Natasha at the bar in his suite, mixing him a drink, a dress so purple it looks like light glancing off a spill of oil, clinging to her hips and dipping low down her back.  Her smile is small and knowing, her hands sure, and the nape of her neck has never looked more tempting than now, red curls twisted up and away from her shoulders in an artful fashion. 

The picture of sin, tantalizing Tony in his very own kitchen. 

“That’s just rude,” Tony says. 

Natasha laughs in that quiet way she does, exhaling through her nose, and slides a martini over the bar with a twist of lemon hanging delicately off the edge.  “I could say the same, Mr. Stark.  You clean up awful nice.” 

“Is that how we’re playing it tonight?” Tony grins, padding close and rounding the flattop to stand at her side, hand coming up to hover-- not quite sure if he can touch.  “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Miss Rushman?” 

It earns him another one of those laughs; barely there, but her eyes soften when he hesitates.  “You can,  _ Antoshka _ .  Never doubt you can.” 

“Right,” Tony swallows, pulse a flutter in his throat as he lays his hand against the bare skin of her lower back-- then traces her spine up, up, with the backs of his knuckles, and Natasha sighs, half bliss and half relief.  “Shall we?” 

“You’re crooked,” she tells him, but it is an excuse to put her hands on him, smoothing out his lapel with lingering fingers as the elevator  _ chimes _ softly behind them.  “Game face on?” 

“Always.” 

* * *

Out of all of them, it is probably Natasha and Rhodey who  know how much events like this wear Tony down.  For Rhodey, it’s a matter of knowing Tony longest, of having seen his smile grow more and more brittle over the evening or of watching his drinks grow stronger and stronger, and handling the exhausted aftermath for years.  Long before the Avengers were ever a twinkle in Fury’s eye. 

Natasha had been trained to read people.  To find their tells and exploit them.  It’s something she’s, regretfully, used against Tony before, when he’d been nothing more than another mission; another mark. 

Now, she uses those skills for very different reasons, eyes on Tony for any hint of discomfort that she can soothe with an easy touch.  Any boredom she can cure with the right words.  Any irritation she can quell with the proper distraction.  Tony is not the open book he pretends to be, so succeeding in these ventures always gives Natasha a deep, thrumming sense of pride. 

She derives pleasure from it.   _ She _ eased the rigid line of tension in his shoulders.   _ She _ earned that smile, the one Tony always failed to hide, eyes wrinkling at the corners.   _ She  _ twisted his focus, his  _ ire _ , into something much more… pleasant.  

It’s what makes failing to notice his tells-- the tightness at his mouth, the subtle tremor in his hands-- that much more disheartening. 

“Oh,  _ shit _ .” 

Natasha doesn’t quite let herself falter in the smooth glide Rhodey is leading her in, years of military balls tucked under his belt and making him the second best dance partner of their odd little ragtag group, but she tears her eyes away from where Clint is making faces at her from across the ballroom floor.  Tonight is a unit affair, the second largest Charity Gala of the spring, and all but Bruce and Thor are present. 

Thor had urgent business off planet.  And the idea of mingling with quite a few generals that still thought he belonged in a cage didn’t sit quite well with the good doctor. 

“What?” she asks, but doesn’t give in to the urge to turn and look for herself. 

“Bad news,” Rhodey’s face is drawn into a severe look, the one Natasha associates with him worrying over Tony; she sees a lot of it, saw a lot of it, especially four months before, during Tony’s  _ sabbatical _ .  “Very bad news.” 

He spins her then, guiding her into a hold so graceful that, not for the first time, she wonders why James Rhodes never went into espionage when he can execute a move so naturally that she doesn’t even need a second glance to know that Tony has been cornered by someone unsavory behind her.  Unsavory and unknown. 

“Who?” she asks. 

“ _ Tiberius Stone _ ,” Rhodey practically spits the name, and Natasha’s already making eyes at Clint, who nudges Sam at his side in turn, who moves to find Steve and Bucky the moment he clues in.  “Tony’s ex.  Manipulative, annoying, charming piece of shit.” 

Natasha hums, lips pressing thin.  “Distraction?” 

Rhodey finally looks down at her, practically vibrating out of his skin with the force of will it takes not to storm over to Tony’s side.  “The only relationship that’s lasted half as long was with Pepper.  And that prissy little twerp made sure to drag Tony through the mud after they broke it off.  Tony let him.” 

Something Russian escapes her and something cold pulls below her navel; jealousy, perhaps.  “Extraction, then.” 

Rhodey blinks at her.  “If you think you can manage it.  He won’t want it to be obvious; won’t want Stone to know he can still worm his slimy way under his skin.”

Natasha’s brow arches up.  It’s enough to make Rhodey look properly chargrinned. 

* * *

“Marc Antony!” Ty calls, the second he spots Tony making a beat toward the bar, and Tony swallows a groan as he turns to face him, extending a hand with a gentility he definitely doesn’t feel.  “It’s been too long.” 

“Not long enough,” Tony tells him with a smile, not missing the way Ty’s fingers tighten around his. 

Ty makes a  _ tsking _ sound between his teeth, closing his other hand over the back of Tony’s and sliding the first up to squeeze gentle at Tony’s wrist.  It’s a familiar, empty gesture; a way they used to tease each other back when they’d been much younger.  It makes something behind Tony’s eyes throb.

He’s had a headache since they arrived.  The Veteran’s Ball was always a hard one for him-- at least, it had been since Afghanistan.  He’s shaken too many hands and stared into the faces of too many soldiers that had been hurt on Stark Industries’ dime. 

While it had been nice, stepping out of the car with Natasha on his arm, and even better getting to sit back and ogle Rhodey and Bucky and Steve and Sam in their dress blues with Natasha and Clint, it still hadn’t quite cut the edge of the night as a whole.  Finding Ty there had just been the icing on top of the disaster.  Or the cake.  Or whatever it was that’s making Tony’s palms itch. 

“Come on, Tony.  you can’t say you didn’t miss me.”  Ty grins, and it’s a lopsided, charming thing, his thumb tracing a slow circle against Tony’s pulse.  

“Not even a little,” Tony returns, just as glib, and it earns him a laugh. 

Ty’s eyes are bright when he finally lets him go to tuck his hands into the pockets of well cut slacks.  “Jesus, Tony.  You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” 

“Only in the ways that matter,” Tony shrugs and when Ty’s gaze strays down over him, Tony doesn’t feel guilty letting his trail a bit too.  He looks good, even looming over Tony in that bespoke suit, all firm and unyielding lines and sure posture; even greying at bit at the temples and around the mouth.  “What are you doing back stateside?” 

“Tired of feeling like a big fish in a little pond,” Ty says, so earnest that Tony has to blink back his surprise.  “You know you were the only one that could pose a proper challenge.” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Tony shrugs.  “You know, considering the bullshit your rags stank with after I kicked you out.” 

“Ah, yes.” Ty winces, gaze straying to their shoes as he rubs a hand over the back of his head.  “I never have properly apologized, have I?” 

Tony blinks.  “Apologized?” 

“Tony,” Ty’s voice dips and he shuffles closer a step and Tony is stupid enough not to step back.  “I was… young and bitter and stupid.  You were younger than me and so beautiful and so goddamn brilliant-- it… What I did, what I put you through, was no where near fair.  Or kind.”

“Well,” Tony clears his throat, glancing away, itching for a drink.  “You’re not wrong about that.  Time put things in perspective?” 

“Time,” Ty nods.  “And lost opportunity.” 

Tony’s eyes narrow on Ty’s face; searching.  “Still doesn’t explain much of what you’re doing in New York.” 

“Looking for a buyer, actually.  New tech in development.  I need someone to invest.”  Ty says, one of those crooked smiles on his mouth again when he sees Tony’s expression pinch.  “Easy, darling.  I wasn’t going to ask you; I’m stupid on you but not daft.  I have a bite out here in the Big Apple and one back in Europe.  But I’m keeping my options open.” 

Tony snorts, but he grins and shakes his head.  “Oscorp?” 

“Hammer Tech, actually.” 

Tony’s brow flies up.  “ _ Hammer _ ?  Hammer, really?  You were alive in 2010, weren’t you?” 

“He’s rebranded since then,” Ty huffs out a laugh, leaning forward to clap a hand on Tony’s shoulder and giving it a brief squeeze, offering up a sly wink that makes something twist low in Tony’s stomach.  “Besides, nothing’s hammered into stone.  I’m just listening to offers.” 

Tony purses his lips.  “What’s the tech--?” 

“ _ Antoshka _ ,” Tony falters as Natasha stumbles into him, skin jumping as one of her hands slides easily under his suit coat to tug at where his shirt is tucked carefully into the waistband of his slacks, the other dangling a half empty drink from her fingertips as she sways on her feet.  “You look  _ very _ hot tonight,  котенок.”

A laugh bubbles up out of Tony’s mouth, unbidden, and he places a hand at Natasha’s lower back as if to steady her.  When he looks down to meet her eyes, seeing the high flush on her cheeks and her lazy smile, he huffs out a little sound.  

“Had to much to drink tonight, sweetheart?” 

Natasha hums, accent thick.  “Да,  _ Antoshka _ .  Take me home?” 

Tony rubs a soothing hand up her back, plucking her drink away and finishing it for her before setting it on a passing empty tray, and he looks back to Ty with an apologetic smile.  “Forgive me, but it appears I have to escort my date back to her room.” 

Ty waves a hand.  “Nothing to worry about.  I didn’t realize you were-- Well, it doesn’t matter.  Perhaps we can catch up while I’m in town?” 

“Of course--” Tony feels heat blossom at the back of his neck as Natasha leans up, teeth dragging over the shell of his ear, her whisper soft and low-- too low-- for Ty to hear, but it makes him burn all the same.  “Another time, Ty.  You know where I am.  Excuse me.” 

* * *

Once they’re officially out of Ty’s range, Natasha begins to walk a little steadier, her hand fisting in the back of Tony’s shirt.  They shift, from Tony leading Natasha toward the usual pleasantries of leaving an event and to Natasha pulling Tony away from the event without the usual song and dance.  They don’t even stop to say goodnight to Pepper.  

It isn’t until they’re out on the stairs leading out of the building, waiting on the car that dropped them to swing around and pick them up, that Tony finally turns Natasha to face him, brow pinched and lips turned down.  “What was--?” 

“You’re still shaking,” Natasha’s lips thin as she takes his hands in hers, and Tony blinks down at his own fingers, seeing the fine tremor there.  “You didn’t know Stone would be there tonight, did you?” 

“I-- Who told you--?” Tony sighs, rolling his eyes.  “Rhodey.” 

“He was worried.” 

“He doesn’t need to be.  Worried, I mean.  I had it handled.  Just a little catching up between--”

“Tony,” Natasha chides, thumbs digging slow circles into one of Tony’s palms, making his fingers flex and then twitch and then he slumps forward to rest his forehead to hers.  “You  _ are _ allowed to avoid people that make you feel uncomfortable, you know.  Or ask one of us for support.” 

“Not in my line of work,” Tony mumbles, eyes fluttering shut as the limousine pulls up beside them, ruffling the hem of Natasha’s skirt.  “I need to go back in, make my excuses.” 

“Clint is already on it.  They’ll join us soon.  Get in the car, Tony.” 

Tony hesitates but then nods, opening the door for her to slide in first and then following after, her hands still wrapped firm around his.  She pulls him close on the leather seat, carding a hand up into his hair and dragging her nails over his scalp.  He shudders and presses his face into the delicate line of her neck.  With a hum, she relaxes back against the seat and lets him go easy against her side. 

She guides his hand to her thigh, giving him something physical to ground him, and smiles as the tension bleeds out of him.  Tony huffs, but she can feel his smile.

“Thank you,” he eventually mutters.  “It was very smooth, pulling me out like that.  Didn’t even have to pretend that I was the drunk one.” 

Natasha snorts, kissing his forehead.  “I am a woman of many skills.  You know this.” 

“Yes,” Tony pulls back, enough to meet her eyes, and there’s something there that she’s seen once or twice before, since this entire thing between them all started, though it is not something she’s ever seen him follow through on.  The way his hand tightens on her thigh tells her that, this time, he just might.  “But I’m still grateful for it.” 

“Are you?” she asks, and she’s a bit surprised by the breathiness of her own voice when he slides the silk of her dress up her leg, dragging the heat of his palm up and around to the sensitive skin between her thighs.  

“I am.  Can I show you?” 

Natasha blinks, but her mouth twitches.  “Would you like to?” 

“Very much,” Tony bobs his head.  “Especially after what you whispered in my ear in there.” 

Natasha actually grows warm, in her face and neck, and lower.  “ _ I want to go home and ride you until you pop like warm champagne _ ,” she repeats, in English this time, and Tony groans. 

“I don’t know if we have time for that, right now,” Tony says, already sinking to his knees on the floor of the car, tugging her close by the hips as she fisted a hand into the mess of his hair.  “But I can probably provide a little relief.” 

“You want to?” Natasha’s brow flies up.  

“I wouldn’t be down here if I didn’t,” Tony admits, bunching her skirt up until it’s rucked around her hips, revealing pale skin and dark lace.  “May I?” 

“Please.” 

He kisses his way up the inside of her left thigh, rubbing circles into the delicate jut of bone at her pelvis.  She splays her legs open further, inviting and more than willing, after months of careful and patient seduction.  After months of letting Tony take his sweet time and taking nothing but the slow kisses and brief touches he had been offering up to all of them, slowly finding a balance between them all. 

When he reaches the apex of her thighs, he wastes no time teasing her, tugging her closer by the hips and pressing a hot, opened mouth kiss to the black lace of her panties.  Natasha shivers, cursing, and drapes a leg over one of his shoulders, stiletto digging in just slightly to the cashmere of his suit coat to urge him on.  She feels Tony hum against her and she hisses as it buzzes along her nerve endings, arching up from the seat when he licks her through the thin material of her underwear.  

She tugs, once, at his hair.  She does not have to say anything, or pull again, because he understands her without her even asking.  His fingers curl around the elastic and pull them down enough for her to wiggle one leg free; it isn’t graceful or pretty, and the lingerie ends up dangling above her knee where her other leg is still resting on Tony’s shoulder, but it doesn’t have to be.  Especially not when Tony’s mouth is back on her, without anything between them, tonguing between her folds and going straight for the heat of her. 

Gasping, Natasha lets her head lull back against the seat as pleasure zips along her nerve endings and then  _ throbs _ through her.  Steady and warm, tight and needy.  

She hadn’t realized how much she’d been waiting for this, to finally move beyond the slow sweetness of their relationship and into the slicker, stickier part.  The heavy part.  The part that had Tony on his knees for her. 

It was common knowledge that Tony was exceptional at most things-- sex included.  But having him between her legs like this, playing her body like this, sends a heady rush to her skull, makes her scalp tingle, and her breath come short as he licks and thrusts and teases at her cunt like he’d been wanting to be buried, face first, against her for ages. 

Maybe he has. 

“ _ Antoshka _ ,” she moans, fingers flexing in his hair, and he groans and presses a firm kiss to her clit before opening his mouth and sucking at it sweetly.  “ _ Oh! _ ” 

She’s rocking up against his face before she can stop herself, wound tight and already teetering on the edge, and the faintest graze of teeth is enough to send her spiraling over with a stuttering gasp, thighs tensing and head straining back as her chest heaves up and down.  

He brings her back down with soothing strokes, until she’s eased back against the seat again, eyes dark and smile slow.  His own is lazy as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before peeling her panties the rest of the way off, folding them up nice and neat, and tucking them into the front pocket of his suit like a damn trophy. 

Her head falls back again as she laughs, tugging him close by the tie, undoing it as she pulls him in between the spread of her legs and into a kiss.  Her lips part his, tongue sliding out to taste herself on Tony’s, and she moans her appreciation as he smooths down her skirt for her.

That’s when the door opens. 

“Hey, Nat, we’re all good to-- oh.” Clint falters, eyes going a bit wide as he looks between them as they part, sharp eyes not missing a single detail as his slack mouth spreads into a wicked grin.  “ _ Oh _ .” 

“Yes, I believe you said that already.” Natasha rolls her eyes, pulling Tony up onto the seat with her, and he fidgets, obviously erect in his deliciously tight tuxedo, until she places a hand on his thigh.  “Are you getting in or not?” 

“As long as you two don’t mind the company.” 

Natasha looks over her shoulder at where she has pressed Tony back against the other door, her body between him and everyone else.  He shakes his head and shrugs. 

“If we sit here any longer, the tabloids will get nosy.” 

“You love rubbing their noses in your business.” 

“They’ve already got plenty of rumors about our illicit orgies and swing affairs,” Tony wrinkles his nose.  “Don’t need to add fuel to the fire.  Plus, I want to get back to the Tower.” 

His eyes are for her and her alone, then, and a pleased shudder ripples through her.  “I have a promise to keep.” 

“Yes.  You do.” 

“Get in, Clint.” Natasha says. 

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am.” He salutes. 

* * *

Other than Clint, the only one who notices the change-- or the tent in Tony’s pants-- is Rhodey.  At first.  Mostly because Rhodey knows what Tony looks like when he’s about to get laid.  

It doesn’t take the others too long to catch on, though. 

He can’t cross his legs to hide it, with the way Natasha still has a firm hand on his thigh and has him pressed to the door.  And he can’t shed his coat to rest in his lap, with his arm around her shoulders.  His face burns when Sam lifts a brow, halfway between the Gala and the Tower, and he lets his head hang when the bastard nudges Steve’s side, who in turn kicks at Bucky’s shin.  His shoulders tremble as he laughs. 

“No shame,” Rhodey grins, arms spread along the back of one of the long seats on the lefthand side of the limo.  

“Not the worst state you’ve caught me in,” Tony admits.  “Remember that time in ‘98?  What was her name… Irene?” 

“Can’t say it was a bad thing to walk in on, you tied to a bed.”  Rhodey says. 

Steve actually groans, burying a face in a hand.  Next to him, Bucky stares at Rhodey with wide eyes. 

“You’re a saint, Colonel.” 

“I just know when to touch and when to let him stew.” 

Tony laughs again, helplessly, and presses his forehead to Natasha’s shoulder.  

On the other side of her, Clint peeks around.  “So… plans for the night?” 

“You’re not joining us,” she tells him. 

Clint slumps into a pout.  

However, Natasha’s hand slides higher on Tony’s thigh.  Then teases at the fly of his pants, and Tony hisses. 

“It’ll be hard to get up to the penthouse with this,” Natasha says, no note of irony in her tone, even if Clint and Sam snicker at the blind pun.  “They’d like to watch you.  Can they?” 

For a moment, Tony has to hide his face against her neck, forcing his hips to stay very still as she palms him through his slacks.  She lets him hide, lets him shy away, but does not stop petting him.

After he lets himself sit, abject and embarrassed for long enough, he nods.  “Yes.” 

There are more than a couple of groans.  Tony doesn’t look to see, already panting against Natasha’s skin as she twists to work his belt open and work his fly down.  When the cool of the air touches his skin, he feels like he should be more ashamed, but remembers that the people around him are the ones he trusts the most.  The ones he’s come to love the most.  The ones that he wants and they want in return.  

His abdomen twitches as Natasha pulls him free of his pants.  He hears someone mutter  _ no underwear, why am I not surprised, of course he’s not wearing underwear, jesus christ _ and he’s not sure if it’s Steve or Sam.  

Her fingers are deft and steady on him, sliding up his length, and then back down, squeezing.  He groans and bucks up into her touch.

It doesn’t take long, not with all of them sitting there watching.  Not when he can feel their eyes, hungry and burning, on his skin.  Not with Natasha whispering in soft Russian, stroking over him at a steady, firm pace.  Not when he’s been waiting for this shit for years.  Not when he’s burning up like this, for her, for them, for all of them. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he grunts, and it’s their only warning before he bucks up again, spilling out over her fingers and his pretty suit.  

The dry cleaner is gonna have his balls.  Again. 

“So hot,” Clint groans, languishing back against the opposite door when Tony blinks up, half dazed, and he realizes that he may not be the only one with a stiffy anymore.

Natasha gives Clint a dry look.  “You’re a child.” 

“Tony loves me anyways,” Clint grouses. 

Tony laughs.  

* * *

The rest of the ride is full of heavy, heated looks that make Tony want to squirm, even after Natasha has neatly tucked him back into his pants.  It’s only when they pull into the garage and step out that anyone else lays a hand on him, each of them unwilling to part without a kiss goodnight.  

He’s watching Steve and Bucky lead each other away when Rhodey steps up close, the last to say goodnight while Natasha lingers at Tony’s side, and he takes Tony’s jaw in hand and kisses the corner of his mouth and not much else.  “Have fun.  Don’t let her kill you with her thighs.  We’ll talk at breakfast.” 

“Night, honeybear.” 

And then they’re alone.  Natasha takes his hand in hers, squeezing, and Tony squeezes back and lets her lead him.  

He’d be lying if he tried to say he hadn’t thought about this, fantasized about it, for ages.  

The trip upstairs is a short one.  They don’t speak, and the silence makes Tony’s shoulders bunch, but Natasha rubs soothing circles with her thumb into the soft skin on the back of his hand.  Jarvis delivers them to his suite, and as they step out, he wishes them a good evening.  

“Do you want this?” Natasha asks, even as Tony guides her past the foyer and toward the entertainment room that overlooks the city, a sea of lights like stars reflecting back up at them through the glass that spans from one end of the room to the next. 

“Yes,” Tony says, working his tie loose.  “I think I might be nervous.” 

Natasha’s mouth twitches, and she stops him in front of the long couch, twists him around with a firm hand on his waist, and peers up at him.  “Must be an odd sensation.  For you.” 

“A bit odd.” 

“You don’t have to be nervous, Tony.” Natasha reaches up, sliding her fingers into his hair, nails dragging over his scalp until he shudders and goes easy into her waiting arms.  “I want you to enjoy this.” 

“Oh,” Tony laughs, thick and warm, pressing his face against her neck and opening his mouth to taste her skin.  “I’ll enjoy it, alright.” 

There aren’t words, then.  She pushes him back, onto the couch, and he bounces slightly when he lands.  

He watches, eyes dark and wanting, as she steps back from him to kick off her heels.  To slide the silk from her shoulders and work the zipper of her dress free.  To nudge it aside with her toes and stand before him in nothing but miles and miles of pale skin.  She’s gorgeous, standing there with the New York skyline behind her, waiting for his permission to move beyond the waiting. 

When he nods, she steps close, coaxing his legs open with her knee and then slides down onto the carpet between his spread thighs.  He moves to shrug out of his coat, to strip himself of his tie and even the playing field, but she stills his hands with her own. 

“Let me.” 

“Yeah,” he rasps, swallows, and then nods.  “Yes.” 

Carefully, deftly, she pushes her hands up, up, up along his thighs, to his waist, to his chest.  She glides his coat down off of his shoulders as he sits forward, setting it off to the side, and then works at the buttons of his shirt.  

Leaning up, she presses kiss after kiss to his skin as it’s revealed.  His hands are shaking when he puts them on her to steady himself; one curling at her nape and twining in the loose strands of her red hair that had fallen during the night; the other spreading along the delicate line of her spine and tracing it down, just to feel her shiver under his touch.  She tugs his shirt free of his pants, slides the silk of his tie from around his neck, and peels him out of his button-up until they’re both bathed with the blue light of the reactor.  

It hums in his chest, trying to keep up with his pounding heart, and she smiles.  

Hands at his waist, she ducks down, tongue warm and shocking against the skin of his abdomen, right above the waistband of his pants.  She traces a scar there, fingers deft as they undo his belt and his fly, and she tugs his hips forward so that she can sink her hands under the material of his trousers and squeeze at the roundness of his ass.

When he groans, she hums against his navel, and he realizes that he’s  _ aching _ for her.  “Nat--” 

“I’ve got you,  _ Antoshka _ .” She tells him, and he slumps back against the couch as she pulls from his touch to undo his shoes, to pull his socks off, to tug his pants the rest of the way down until he’s just as naked as she is. 

Sitting back on her heels, her eyes flit over his skin, and if he’d been any other man, he might’ve blushed under such scrutiny.  Instead, the low flame in his stomach just stokes higher, and he wets his lips as she meets his gaze from where she’s knelt, firm and soft and unyielding and gentle, right between his legs.

“You’re beautiful,” he mumbles, reaching for her again, coaxing her up onto the couch with him and thrilling that she lets him.  “You’re so fucking gorgeous; it’s unfair.” 

“Could say the same about you,” she replies with a throaty little laugh, knees on either side of him, hands on his shoulders.  

His face grows warm, but he takes the time to admire her up close.  Enjoys the way her skin looks so pale when he runs his hands, rough from years of hard labor and abuse, up the supple expanse of her thighs.  The way she shudders for him as he traces up the gentle curve of her hip, to her waist, to the full weight of her breasts.  The way she arches as he leans in to press a kiss to her collar and then traces it down, down to the pink of her nipple.  

He moans when she tangles her fingers into his hair and pulls  _ hard _ .  Follows as she forces him back, going pliant beneath her, no matter how hard and twitching.  

And then she’s spreading her legs wider, guiding him into her with a hand, sinking down on him with perfect wet heat and his hips flex up slow in reply.  He thinks he might mutter something about protection because she tells him that they won’t need it, and distantly he thinks he remembers something like that buried in those encrypted files they’d dumped way back when, but he doesn’t mention it and she seems to be grateful.  

“I want you.  Just like this,” she says, rocking her hips and clenching down, and Tony grunts and strains slightly up, earning a breathy sigh for his trouble.  “Just want to feel you,  _ Antoshka _ .” 

She sets a steady pace.  Riding up and sinking back down, sinuous and perfect and almost too much, until they’re both a bit breathless, sweat glistening on their skin.  He wraps her up in his arms, cradling her back, taking whatever she might give him with wide eyes and parted lips.  Groans as she lets her head fall back, as she seeks out her own pleasure with his body, angling herself so that he fills her just right.  

His mouth falls to her skin.  To her heaving breasts as she pants, to her neck, to the soft line of her jaw.  He sinks the fingers of one hand into her hair, untangling it from the knot it was in, rubbing soothing lines over her scalp as she shivers and hums for him.  The other, he slides between them, reaching for her as she slides down onto him, and coaxing softer and sweeter sounds from her as she bucks down and peaks with a stuttering jerk. 

Russian falls, unbidden, from her lips.  She pulls him impossibly closer and rides it out, movement growing harsher; faster.  Tony has to bite back a curse, but then she’s tugging his head back again, catching his mouth in a filthy kiss and swallowing down his groan.

She grabs his hands, threading her fingers through his, and presses them back against the couch by his head when she breaks away, lips red and slick.  Her pupils are blown out, like she’s just won a fight, and Tony moans, helpless beneath her as she pauses their momentum to rut down on him.  Savoring the sensation of him inside of her, of what it feels like to clench down and spasm around him as he twitches and whines. 

“Beautiful,” she hisses, biting at his jaw, and he bucks up sharply with a shout, falling over the edge and spilling into her with shaking, stammering hips.  “So perfect,  _ Antoshka _ , so lovely.” 

“Jesus,” he pants, her loose hair tickling at his nose as she nuzzles along his cheek, rocking him through it.  “ _ Jesus, Nat _ .” 

“I told you I had you,” she kisses his cheek. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out a laugh, squeezing at her fingers still tangled with his.  “Yeah, you got me, alright.” 

When she finally stops moving, when they finally come down enough to pull apart, she wrinkles her nose and climbs out of his lap.  Slumping next to him, she tugs his arm around her shoulders, and curls against his side.  

He lets his head lull over, nose buried in red curls, kissing the top of her head.  

“We should shower,” he says. 

“We should,” she agrees.  “But afterwards, I want to tie you to your bed and cum with your face between my thighs again.” 

Tony grunts, like all the air has been punched right out of him, and nods.  

“Yeah.  Yeah, I think we can probably make that happen.” 


End file.
